


More Than a Night

by elysiontower



Series: i wanted gueimeis fics so i threw darts at prompt generators [3]
Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Awkward Romance, Fluff, Headcanon, M/M, Minor Angst, Slow Dancing, Trans Gueira (Promare), Trans Male Character, Trans Meis (Promare), gueimeis r parents, the kids are just the two kids we see in the movie with names, trans author, violinist lio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26701411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elysiontower/pseuds/elysiontower
Summary: A hand brushes against his, interlocking their fingers, and he awakens to long, gentle notes. The image of Lio's bow gliding slowly over the strings is clear, with a focused look likely on his face. Meis drops his cigarette, crushing it under his boot, before pulling Gueira away from the wall and into the rays of the moon.Despite the hour, he can see his partner's face clearly, washed in alabaster and longing. "Dance with me?"
Relationships: Gueira/Meis (Promare)
Series: i wanted gueimeis fics so i threw darts at prompt generators [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672507
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	More Than a Night

The settlement has become something of a home, if it can be called that. Their makeshift rooms are cramped, divided only by the blankets and towels they use for privacy, but it does nothing for noise or security. Oh well- it's what they have. 

Every night, Lio sets small fires at night, leaving them along the road to light the way. When he does, the children come out; wiggling away from their parents, they play around the bonfires and keep close to Lio, to Meis, to himself. They know they're safe with them, and the three of them are familiar enough with each other to know they'd give their lives to make sure that's true. 

Tonight's no different. Their parents sit by the fire, watching the smiles on their children's faces as they chase each other, and Gueira feels a grin coming on at the sight, looking to his own kids gazing up at him, eyes hopeful. Ollie clings to his jacket sleeve, just for a moment, in anticipation of that gentle nod before he too is gone, chasing after his sister. Their laughs are a far cry from how he and Meis met them.

They're a far cry from how they found them just last week.

Gueira's eyes scan the area around them, observing his subordinates teasing and encouraging the young ones who insist, proudly, that they'll be bigger and tougher when they're older. Chuckles to himself when he watches another group bicker about unfair hiding spots and who got caught. He feels ancient, reminiscing about the days he used to act the same. Something must be wrong with him.

The soft clack of heels signals their leader's approach, alongside calls of his title in greeting. Lio effortlessly commands the attention in the room, hardly having to raise his voice as he addresses the energetic children. He tells them to watch, and they do; their eyes are fixed to the young man's movements, the way his arm reaches into the bonfire to pull out pinks and teals a common blaze could never produce. His fingers play with its shape, a fluid waltz of color and sparks that they all feel, they all  _ know _ speaks to him. All of the mundane dialogue between a Burnish and his flames is being embraced, exaggerated into a performance for the revering crowd, who all stare as fire shifts to liquid, taking the shape Lio wills, into that of the violin he was known to have once played.

Its bow extends in his palm, the glow of its heat illuminating Lio's skin, and he puts it carefully up to the strings to listen, to tune it, as if not a day's gone by since his last practice. Well, knowing him, perhaps that was even true. It's hard to blame him, watching him clutching onto the last bit of normality from the life he's left behind. Fearless leader or not, Lio is Lio. He's just like them, in that regard.

The air is tense. A once-lively crowd now holds its breath, admiration and respect centered on the young man before it. He begins with a test, an exercise to refresh the memory long held by muscle, and from the first note, something hurts. It's the sound of his heart, his hopes, the wishes he once carried as a child; Gueira hears Lio's cries better than anyone, hears his memories, his  _ regrets _ come to life. The burning strings may bend to the tune of rose-tinted nostalgia, but expert fingers are only mourning the man Lio could have been. Was meant to be.

There's a tug on his jacket, and Gueira looks to his side to see Em reaching up, wiping a tear from her father's eye. He assures her it's alright.

Yes, Lio remembers his skill all too well. Perhaps Gueira remembers something too. 

Before he realizes it's over, he hears applause echoing throughout the settlement. For someone who thrives in the spotlight, even Lio seems overwhelmed by the praise, accepting it bashfully as he hides behind offering requests. Not that many people suggest anything specific; there are a few former musicians, sure, throwing out pieces their leader would be familiar with, but the others can only call out emotions, hoping Lio knows something along the lines of what they're thinking. It's warm, this collaboration between knowledge and feeling, all to express a joy none of them have felt in years. Gueira's almost content to watch silently from his seat there. Almost.

Someone's missing.

For a second, his eyes dart between his two children before his gaze meets Lio's before the next song. There's a nod-  _ Go. _

Looks like Boss is fine with babysitting duty.

Gueira smiles in thanks, getting up without a word to escape the blond's enthusiastic audience. He'll be back before they notice.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to look far to find that someone. The moon is full when he scales the ladder down the remains of the highway, shimmering in the otherwise blackened night with its silver glow. How romantic to find Meis out here, cigarette in mouth, leaning against a concrete pillar. There's a grin on his face. The violin strings play cheerfully in the distance, a quickened pace accompanied by timed claps. 

"Better put that out before the kids see you," Gueira greets in jest. It shouldn't really matter, not when smoke means nothing to their lungs now.

"Yeah yeah, I'm not irresponsible," Meis returns. Still, they hold onto that notion. They miss the days when it  _ did _ matter. 

It isn't unusual to find his partner away from a crowd, preferring the chirps of desert crickets over the buzz of laughter and shouts. While most will get the wrong impression, Gueira knows he isn't shy. He hasn't been for a long time, not since they were kids, but he gets the real reason; sometimes, the noise is too much.

They fall into their easy quiet, Meis offering a cigarette from the stolen pack and pressing the tip to that of his own, hesitant to look Gueira in the eye when they're so close. It lights slowly, paper charring away, and the smoke he exhales is scarlet. He's not sure why it does that, even as Meis breathes out indigo, and he doubts he'll ever find out. That's fine to him. 

He can't help the smile on his face that grows as he leans his head on his partner's shoulder, taking in the lively notes that jump in the air, accentuated by the beat Lio's audience provides, and he doesn't stop his foot from tapping along. Meis huffs a laugh next to him, but takes another drag of his cigarette. 

"Kid's pretty handy with that, huh?"

Gueira hums in agreement. "Happy to have a string buddy?"

There's a slight jab in his side from Meis's elbow. "Bass is  _ completely _ different from violin," the other man insists. His tone is neutral, sincere, but Gueira knows that the memory is bitter on Meis's tongue. 

Who knows how many others share their sentiment? After watching Lio's flames dance in his hands, melting into and crafting his instrument with ease, it's hard for one not to wonder what it is the rest of them are missing. 

"I figured it is. Unless you played guitar with a bow and never told me."

The laugh Meis lets out is brighter this time, and that's enough for him. Gueira feels a weight settle atop his own head, and he's comfortable.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to dance to something like this, would you?"

Hell no. "Nah. Wasn't there that chick in middle school who did Irish step for the talent show, though? That was cool."

"That  _ was  _ cool," his partner agrees, shifting his head in a nod. 

Neither of them were ever much for it- dancing in general, that is. Meis was-  _ is _ , Gueira insists to himself- a natural guitarist at heart, his movements varying with each song he plays, but never anything too choreographed. His heart is in his voice, in his hands; the rest of his body just follows accordingly. On the other hand, the redhead has about all the musical talent of a tranquilized squirrel, even if Meis assures him he can sing just fine. Gueira's never been coordinated enough for that, or for much at all, but he doesn't want to think about that. He'll admit, there's still something satisfying about tapping along to a song, be it with his hands, his feet, even down to his fingers. It's hard to stop once he gets into it. 

He wonders how everyone else is doing up there. Are they dancing? Were any of them experts? Are they reminiscing, just like he is, about past recitals? Favorite clubs? Victorious competitions? Vibrant parties?

Do they miss it all?

Gueira knows he's just projecting. All this melancholy is just in his head.

“Not gonna join them?” Meis asks, taking a drag and breathing out once more. “It sounds pretty lively up there.”

“I’d rather be down here.”

A hand brushes against his, interlocking their fingers, and he awakens to long, gentle notes. The image of Lio's bow gliding slowly over the strings is clear, with a focused look likely on his face. Meis drops his cigarette, crushing it under his boot, before pulling Gueira away from the wall and into the rays of the moon.

Despite the hour, he can see his partner's face clearly, washed in alabaster and longing. "Dance with me?"

Gueira grins, only putting out his own smoke with his heel as he takes Meis's free hand into his own to follow him into the moonlight. “Of course”.

They fall into step with the violin's soothing waltz, their paces aligned with each other like they’ve done this thousands of times before- hilarious, really, when they’d hardly think of themselves as having any real experience. Meis’s hand falls to Gueira’s hip, the latter returning the gesture by resting his own on his partner’s shoulder. Not once have they let go of each other, fingers entwined as Gueira brings them up to press kisses to Meis’s knuckles.

“Sentimental, are we?”

Lio’s notes are low, distant, dragging on as if to savor each moment they have in the air before fading into memory. They stand alone, without piano accompaniment, but they don’t need one. Mad Burnish’s heart plays proudly enough on his own.

“Yeah, maybe a bit.”

Neither of them recognize the song. It holds no familiarity to them, yet it permeates around them like a veil of mist, curtaining around them and slowing time as they focus only on each other. Their steps draw them closer, Gueira feeling Meis’s hand snake ever more around his waist to hold him. He responds in silence, pulling Meis in by locking his fingers behind his neck, but he stops himself there. The temptation to move further, to cup his partner’s cheeks in his palms, is nearly overwhelming. 

Of course this isn’t their first time in this position, with Meis’s arms around him as they dance to a steady rhythm. All the shame Gueira knew back then, afraid of feeling weak, afraid of his own reflection, had dissipated when he looked in the mirror that evening to see the first tailored suit he was ever allowed to own, hair freshly trimmed and dyed, and even a faint hint of stubble finally growing in. It was the first night he’d truly seen himself; so what if he sort of, maybe, cried a little when he got to hear his grandmother finally say  _ handsome _ ? 

It meant twice as much when his best friend, arriving at their highschool prom venue dressed in elegant silken crimson and raven hair braided down his back, uttered it with a reverence that could only be reserved for angels.

_ Mom wouldn’t let me wear a suit myself, so I at least picked something comfortable. You like it? _

_ You look handsome. _

He knows, to this day, that he didn’t imagine the relief in Meis’s eyes that night when he said it back.

Gueira remembers the warmth of that night, shucking off his jacket to place around his friend’s shoulders, and feeling the skip of his own heart as he watched him pull it closer around his arms. He briefly thought, that moment, about how he wanted more chances to do that for him. 

“You want my jacket?” he asks.

Meis shakes his head, smiling. “I’m warm enough with you.”

He could accept that answer, too. 

The pair remain in close embrace, Meis laying his head atop Gueira’s as the latter rests on his dear friend’s shoulder, even when the music comes to a halt. There’s the faint clamor of applause, signaling its end, but neither of them let go. He takes in the rise and fall of the other man’s chest, listening to the gentle beat of his heart. It plays a song all of its own, and Meis has only ever let him hear it. Gueira’s lost track of the times they’ve laid tangled together, similar to now, lulled to sleep by that comforting sound.

After all these years, he’s still with him.

It’s a thought that occurs to him often. Back then, everyone always worried about drifting apart after high school, didn’t they? Fearing that the tumult of adult life and responsibility would all sweep them up and tear apart the connections already made. Gueira was just as guilty of that as everyone else. 

Maybe he’s one of the lucky ones. 

He shifts, lifting his head to take a proper look at the same man who had saved his life so many years ago. Who continues to save him, even now.

His partner raises an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. “Somethin’ up?”

Millions of responses go through his head, but none of them reach his throat. Meis is framed in silver before him, black strands of hair now carrying the star-scattered navy of the sky above them. What could he possibly say to him?

_ Oh, love of my life. The light that guides me. My North Star.  _

Those titles will remain locked in his chest for years to come. Perhaps one day he’ll be able to tell him, to speak his affection into existence, but wordless intimacy is such a fragile thing. 

He lets his hand reach Meis’s cheek, the other Burnish leaning in and pressing their foreheads together. Gueira’s eyes flutter to a close, feeling the rough touch of chapped lips against his own. Meis is warm, so very warm despite the cold night around them, and there’s nowhere else Gueira would rather be. 

It’s near silent when they part, Lio’s concert having long since ended, but the crickets keep them company. Meis’s smile is fond, and it takes Gueira all his willpower not to kiss him again.

“I’m glad I met you,” he says, instead.

**Author's Note:**

> this has been shat out through my utter exhaustion because gay people are all i live for anymore
> 
> the prompt i used to write this one was "dancing in the moonlight" and why WOULDNT i write another fic taking place at night. thats my brand now
> 
> the kids' names are ollie (from apollo, god of the sun) and em (hemera, goddess of day) to use that funky naming convention of "greek god name shortened to be catchy"
> 
> PLEASEEEE leave comments and feedback.... it would be pretty epic


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